Ironside

by Alexis Abbott

  Ironside

  Heartbreaker MC #3

  Alexis Abbott

  © 2019 Pathforgers Publishing.

  All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  This book is intended for sale to Adult Audiences only. All sexually active characters in this work are over 18. All sexual activity is between non-blood related, consenting adults. This is a work of fiction, and as such, does not encourage illegal or immoral activities that happen within.

  Cover Design by Wicked Good Covers. All cover art makes use of stock photography and all persons depicted are models.

  More information is available at Pathforgers Publishing.

  Content warnings: dark romance, biker violence

  Word count: 61,000 Words

  Contents

  Introduction

  Part of the Heartbreakers MC Series

  Ironside

  1. Ironside

  2. Justine

  3. Ironside

  4. Justine

  5. Ironside

  6. Justine

  7. Ironside

  8. Justine

  9. Justine

  10. Ironside

  11. Justine

  12. Ironside

  13. Justine

  14. Ironside

  15. Justine

  16. Ironside

  17. Justine

  18. Ironside

  19. Justine

  Next from Alexis Abbott

  Also by Alexis Abbott

  About the Author

  Connect with Alexis

  Acknowledgments

  Romance Novels to your Email

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  Part of the Heartbreakers MC Series

  Reading Order:

  Don’t miss out on the rest of the Heartbreakers Series by Alexis Abbott!

  Breaker

  Bones

  Ironside

  Big Daddy

  These are all standalones set in the same universe, and are best read in order.

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  Ironside

  Hot black coffee runs down my throat as my eyes watch the pink glow of the neon sign that barely stands out above the new strip club in the fading sunset light. From the diner across the street, I’m watching the place before it opens for the evening.

  Diesel is here. I know he is.

  It’s been a long time since I had the kind of company you get at a strip club, but this is a different kind of joint. There have been rumors about shit I don’t like to see in my state surrounding this place, and it turned up out of nowhere almost overnight. That tells me something’s up, and it reeks of Diesel, the biker whose gang has been pimping out women against their will at clubs like this all over the state.

  That doesn’t seem to bother the patrons, though. Pickings are slim in this one-stoplight Wyoming town off the interstate, so last night, the parking lot was packed with trucks...and motorcycles.

  I parked my own bike a few buildings down, out of sight. I don’t want anyone in that strip club knowing I’m here until I’m good and ready to show myself. Because as soon as someone in that club gets eyes on me, shit’s going to turn hot real fast. That’s not how I operate. I’m quick, I’m quiet, and when I strike I do not miss.

  If I weren’t I wouldn’t be alive right now.

  As long as I’m in the back of this diner, I can take my time. I look like anyone else from across the street. My black boots are dusty, my blue jeans are tattered, and my old dog tags rest on my military-green shirt. They’re the same ones I wore in the Marines, but they don’t look like they did back then. I had them melted down and re-stamped to show that I’m Ironside, and I’m a Heartbreaker.

  As if my kutte couldn’t do that on its own, that is. The tattered Heartbeaker colors rest on my shoulders, all but falling apart except for the pristine patches, some of which have been with me since my military days.

  Wearing those colors around here means something. This is not our territory, but it’s close enough to it that people know what the Heartbreaker emblem means. The skeletal hands spearing a heart have the respect of the locals on this side of the state. They know we keep the peace. We don’t let predators rule these roads. We keep them clean.

  And cleaning up is what I’m here to do.

  The club’s front doors swing open, and I see two men file out, squinting to keep the sunlight out of their eyes from that direction. I make note of that. They’re bikers, that much is obvious even from across the street. They’re not wearing their kuttes, but the rest of the look is a dead giveaway.

  And I recognize one of them.

  The shorter one of the two is a guy with a slight limp that makes his gait easy to recognize. When I knew him, he was a prospect back in Buzz’s MC. When the Heartbreakers put Buzz six feet under the dry earth, we hoped his sex slavery ring would go down with it. We were wrong. Diesel was one of his right-hand men, and people rallied around him in the name of making money. This guy must have stuck around Diesel and just put on new colors.

  I’ve had a gut feeling this is either Diesel’s new stronghold or one of them, but I need proof. Breaker, our leader, won’t make a move against a club like this unless we know for damn sure there’s shady business going on behind its doors. And that means I need to get on the other side of them.

  The two guys head around the building and disappear behind a corner, chatting to each other as they go. I’m not going to be able to see much more from here. But I’ve watched a van go behind that building, and there’s been no more activity since those two went back there. That tells me it’s a good place to start.

  I leave the cash for my tab and a fat tip on the table before heading for the door, taking out a pair of aviators and putting them on. My boots crunch across the asphalt as I casually make my way to the curb and cross the empty street, glancing over my shoulder and keeping my stride confident.

  The sun is in the eyes of anyone who comes out of the club or sticks their head out, there are no windows in the front, and I look like I belong there at a glance. In a few hours, they’ll have sentries out prowling on the rooftops, but for now, it’s business as usual upstairs. The only people milling around are bikers, some of them probably prospects who might not even recognize my face.

  Breaking into a place in broad daylight isn’t always that hard. Sometimes, walking with a stride that tells people you belong here and are on your way to something is all you need to be convincing. Since gunshots don’t start firing the second I step into the club parking lot, I figure luck is on my side.

  I cased the building this morning. The two guys I saw must be heading around to the back side of the building, which could mean they’re checking on the AC unit, but more likely means they’re heading around to the back of the building, where there’s an exit from the club’s basement. It also means I’ve only got so much time to follow them and stay out of earshot.

  When I reach the corner of the club, I see the two of them disappear behind the back corner, presumably heading for the basement. I keep low and follow them, thinking. The only reason they’d need to go to the basement would be to unlock the doors for the night, in case someone needs to get in or out in a hurry. That means one of them probably has his keys out.

  Sure enough, by the time I’m close enough to the AC unit to crouch low behind it, I hear the sound of jingling keys coming my way. I press myself against the unit and wait as I hear the two m
en approach. They’re not chatting anymore, and that’s a problem. Conversation keeps people distracted and easy to pickpocket.

  I wait and hold my breath, and when the men stride past the AC unit, I reach out.

  Moments later, I watch them disappear behind the front corner of the strip club again while I clutch the keys between my fingers and slip around back.

  When I approach, I’m surprised to see the basement doors locked up with a padlock and heavy chain. So, they weren’t back here unlocking it, meaning they probably want this door locked all night when the bar opens.

  I’m not surprised.

  That means they have something down there they want to keep in.

  After one more glance around the back of the building, I crouch down and open the padlock as quietly as I can, and I slide the chains aside. I shouldn’t be doing this alone, but if Diesel is working out of this place, a lone man like me is able to get in and out better than a crew of us would.

  I pull the door open with one hand, and I hold the huge, heavy steel padlock in my other. It’s coming with me. Fading light floods the stairs as I slip in and shut the door behind me without so much as a glance over my shoulder. Just like that, I’m on a mission again, and my training kicks in.

  My steps are completely silent as I slip into the shadows of the club’s basement. It leads to a larger room that opens up at the base of the stairs, and I carefully take out a hand mirror I brought to check around the corner.

  A stone falls to my stomach.

  It looks like an average club basement at a glance--shelves of scant supplies line the walls, and there’s a man leaning by the entrance to what looks like a janitor’s closet.

  Guards aren’t usually posted on janitor’s closets, and I think my suspicions about what that lock was for are about to be confirmed. But I don’t want to make noise and let the guard call in a dozen more men in on me. I glance around me, mind racing.

  I notice a tall plastic bucket sitting by the door, and after taking a deep, silent breath, I kick it over. I hear a grunt from the guard, who approaches carefully, eyes down as if looking for an animal who’d slipped inside. Before he even sees me, I move.

  My fist lashes out, and the steel padlock cracks him across the head. He staggers and looks up at me with hazy eyes before toppling over to the ground. I clutch the padlock and check the man’s pulse to make sure he’s alive before moving on to the closet.

  My face pales at what I see within.

  Instead of any equipment, there’s a thick, scratchy blanket bundled up on a wet concrete floor in a tight roll...and there’s a shock of strawberry blonde hair spilling out of one end of it. Quickly, I stoop down and put my hands on the woman’s shoulders, and I’m relieved to at least feel warmth.

  There might be hope.

  I pull back the blankets carefully, and I find that they’ve been wrapped tight around her. Her body is limp, and I start worrying that I might be too late before I find a wrist and put my fingers to it.

  She has a pulse. She must be drugged.

  I pull the blankets down from her face, and I’m nearly stunned by the sight. She has the face of an angel, like a marble statue brought to life--and about as pale to match, too.

  Clutching the girl in my arms, I curse silently. She can’t be a day over twenty, and she must have been taken recently. She looks like a healthy person, despite her condition right now. I wonder how recently she ended up here, and how, but I don’t have time for that. It’s only a matter of minutes before someone else has reason to come down here, or the man I just knocked out gets missed.

  I’ve got to make a call on what to do, immediately.

  This is Diesel’s place, this is all the proof I need of that. The smart thing to do would be to just snap pictures of what I’ve seen, send them to Breaker, and organize a raid. But that could put her life in more danger, and as if that weren’t enough, it would leave her to face whatever they have planned for her tonight.

  And this is Diesel’s gang. What he has planned isn’t going to be pretty. Anger boils my blood, and for a moment, I let myself start to plan heading upstairs and taking them all on, armed with nothing but my padlock. I’d faced worse odds before and pulled out on top. But I’ve got to get this girl out of harm, and there’s only one surefire way to do that.

  I’ve got to steal her.

  “Hey,” I whisper to her, brushing her hair away from her ear. “Can you hear me? I’m a friend. Talk to me, honey.”

  Her head rolls limp to the side, and I scoop her into my arms and pick her up. I know what I’m going to do. I knew as soon as I saw her, truth be told, but my better judgment still rears its head every now and then.

  I carry her up the stairs, moving as silently as I did on the way up here. I’ve carried bodies far bulkier than hers before in worse conditions. The weight on my mind is much heavier, anyway. Stealing this girl from Diesel isn’t just deadly in the short term. There will be consequences.

  “Alright, girl,” I murmur to her softly as I carry her. “If I get you out of here, you’re gonna need to hold on tight, and keep your head down. It’s a long way to the clubhouse.”

  Ironside

  The sounds of my boots on the ground and my husky breathing are all I can focus on as my legs carry me across the second asphalt driveway behind another abandoned business near the club. With the girl in my arms, stealth is all but out of the question. I’ve got to make a break for it and do what I’ll die doing: ride, hard and fast.

  My bike is in sight. I parked it between a couple of dumpsters behind what used to be an upholstery shop, and it stands out like a gleaming black gem, waiting for us. That bike means a hell of a lot more to me than just a hobby. That bike means freedom--it meant it for me so many years ago, and it’ll mean it for this girl, if I have anything to do about it.

  “Hey,” I murmur as I get to the bike and slowly set her down on the seat. “How we doing? Are you with me yet?”

  As I pull the blanket down from her face, I see her mouth moving faintly, but she’s still dead weight. I frown. I kept the blanket over her so that anyone glancing my way might not guess immediately that I’m carrying an unconscious woman off, because that’s a bad look if I ever saw one. But we’re going to have to get on the road if we have any chance of getting out unnoticed.

  “Fan out, they’re not far!” I hear from down the road in a hoarse shout.

  Too late.

  “Fuck- hey,” I hiss, gently trying to shake the girl awake enough to ride with me. “Listen, if you can hear me, we’ve got to go, now. I’m gonna put you on my bike, and you’re going to have to help me help you, can you do that?”

  “Mmruh?” she replies, and as I pat her on the arm to try to snap her out of her sleep, I feel her start to squirm.

  At least I won’t be just draping her legs over the seat and hoping for the best, but I need her awake.

  BANG.

  My heart jumps to my throat when the gunshot goes off, and immediately, I grab the girl and dive to the ground with her. She isn’t awake yet, but that jolts her out of her stupor enough to squeak as we go down together. My body breaks the landing, and my first instinct is to crawl out of the way with her and pull my pant leg up to get my own gun out.

  I point in toward the sound of the voices, and sure enough, one of the three men down the road who’s closed in on us is the same one I stole the keys from earlier. I fire at them just enough to let them know I’m packing and send them running for cover. That’s all the time I need to get us to our feet and check the girl for injuries.

  Around the same time that I’m looking her body over, I feel the aching burn in my shoulder through the rush of adrenaline surging through my body. I glance down at my shirt and see the bloodstain growing, and I have my answer. I don’t have time to see how bad the damage is. It’s mild enough that I’m still on my feet, and if I can do that, I can ride.

  I get us both on the motorcycle in a hurry and fire up the engine. When I do, our attackers come
out of cover to keep us from escaping, but I’m firing in their direction before they even come out. The man I pick-pocketed takes a bullet to the hip, and I watch him hit the ground in pain before I gun the engine and peel out of the alleyway, clutching the girl’s arms around my torso as tight as I can.

  The wind whips around my face as I barrel out of the alley in the opposite direction, and a truck leans on its horn as I swerve to avoid it when I jet out of the other side. My bike thunders down the street while I hear more bike engines revving behind us, but I’m so focused that bombs could be going off around us and it wouldn’t deter me any more.

  I hear a bleary murmur and a tired groan as the girl leaning on my back starts to stir, her strawberry blonde hair whipping behind her. For a second, I hold out hope that that’s going to be a good thing for us. But then I hear the distress in her soft murmuring, and for her safety, I tighten my grip on her wrists, pinning her to me.

  When she comes to, and I feel her look around her surroundings, I’m glad I’m holding her tighter. She screams and tries to pull back and jerk away at the same time...on a moving motorcycle that’s picking up speed fast. I lean the motorcycle to keep our balance and grit my teeth as I hear a gunshot behind me. With the girl riding on my back, I can’t afford to have them on my tail.

  “Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!” the girl breathes as she tries to jerk away from me. “Stop, let me off! Where am I? Help!”

  “Hold on tight,” I growl before I turn my bike around at an open stretch of road, and she screams again as we see what’s coming after us.